


The disadvantage of caring

by pseudonymum



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Holmes Brothers, Implied/Referenced Torture, Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3627681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudonymum/pseuds/pseudonymum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of Bart’s Hospital and survived. Two years later he told the world how.</p><p>“All my instincts are against this explanation, and yours too, I think.” Mycroft Holmes, The Bruce Partington Plans (1988)</p><p>A retelling of the events surrounding the Reichenbach Fall</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We will play

Sherlock Holmes made no effort to respect the customary silence in the Diogenes Club as he strode through the ancient halls in search of his brother. His fury was evident even from afar, so much so that no one dared to comment on his heavy step or laboured breathing.

“Mycroft,” he called out as he threw open the doors he knew where concealing his brother. “I do not appreciate your man handlers picking me up while I try to do the work Lestrade gets paid for.” Sherlock’s voice was a threatening rumble, a deep thunder telling of a devastating storm forming.

Mycroft gave a sly smile and lowered his eyes, he knew silence would let his brother calm down quicker than any words he could offer. Indeed, it took only a few more seconds of glaring until Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and curiosity overtook him.

“Why am I here?” Someone less familiar with his brother would have had no way of guessing that the rumble of his voice was now merely there for show, but Mycroft relaxed visibly. Even he could never truly predict his brother’s temper. A small gesture of his hand send away the two men who were paid to protect him. When the doors closed to leave them alone, Mycroft leisurely made his way over to the two opposing chairs he had set up in preparation of this meeting. He took the one facing the door, allowing him to keep an eye on his brother.

“Jim Moriarty.” Mycroft kept his voice devoid of any emotion. After a carefully calculated pause, he continued. “He might be the most dangerous man in Britain.”

“I always thought you were the most dangerous man in Britain, brother dear.” Mycroft could not help but smile.

“You flatter me; but I am afraid you are mistaken.” Mycroft started in a tone that an unsuspicious listener could have mistaken for pleasantness. “And now, thanks to you, brother dear, Moriarty knows that this government has a weak spot, a walking security leak; one man who could take the country down in his fall through his connection to me and he goes by the name of Sherlock Holmes.” Mycroft had let his voice drop to a critically deep level as he spoke, his eyes never leaving his younger brother as he took his seat opposite him.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sherlock replied with a smugness he knew his brother detested. “How would Moriarty be able to target me?”

“Sentiment.”

“Sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.” On another occasion Mycroft had been proud of his little brother’s perfect citation of an early childhood lesson, but now it set him off in a way that it was all he could do not to actually attack Sherlock as he launched forward and his voice rose to a higher volume than he would ever care to admit.

“Than why do you display it?” For the fraction of a second Sherlock looked shocked and maybe a little confused at his brother’s outburst, but than the smug expression came back on his face.

“I think I recently proved to you that I don’t.” Mycroft let a humourless laugh escape his lips.

“I was not referring to Irene Adler.” He was still struggling to regain control over himself, though few people would have been able to notice it.

“What are you saying?”

“You have let too many people come close to you, too many pressure points, brother dear.”

“What are you talking about?”

“John Watson, Molly Hooper, Lestrade and even that godforsaken landlady of yours.” The younger man’s eyes narrowed.

“Why do you care about them?”

“I don’t. I care about you.” There was a sincerity in that statement that made Sherlock flinch. “It has been hard enough to take responsibility for an out of control junkie-turned-detective, but then you had to go and get yourself attached to anyone who would have you. Do you think it was a coincidence that Mrs. Hudson was attracted? Moriarty has his net cast nice and wide and whenever he needs to, he pulls a string. You confirmed every hope he could have possibly held that you would buckle the second anyone laid a finger on one of you precious friends.” By now, if anyone unfamiliar with the English language would have been listening, he would have guessed that Mycroft was merely chit-chatting with his increasingly confused brother.

“What do you expect me to do?”

The Iceman looked his brother in the eye, a smile so cold it had frozen whole countries on his lips.

“We have been invited to join a game, brother dear, and from now on, we will play.”


	2. Bits and pieces

Again it was the Diogenes Club where they met, but this time no daylight could reach the brothers as they sat on opposing sides of the large table in Mycroft’s underground office. Only very few people knew what was hidden under the prestigious building.

“You found him. You found Moriarty.” It was not a question.

“I have done more than just find him, brother mine.” Mycroft sounded offended by his brother’s continued disregard of his abilities.

“I have heard rumours that Moriarty has come into the possession of a key; a few lines of computer code that could undermine security systems in the entire world. Nonsense, of course, but it has widened his circle immensely.” As he spoke Mycroft got up and made his way over to the wall, where he gazed deeply into a small mirror.

“I had to make sure he keeps a low profile for a while, before his network gets too elaborate.” Part of the wall opened up without a sound, revealing a long, brightly lit hallway. “Would you like to take a look?” Mycroft’s carefully pleasant tone of voice was already unnerving his younger brother.

It took them several minutes to cross the entire length of the hallway, through several highly secured doors. Behind the last of them, the hallway seemed to terminate into a small rectangular room. When the door closed behind them, they were engulfed in utter darkness. Then a buzzing sound could be heard and a wall opened into a bigger room, illuminated by the shine of artificial light coming in through a large window. On the other side of that window, Jim Moriarty sat motionless on an iron chair. Once he had arguably been the most flamboyant criminal mastermind Britain was rich of, but now he looked like an empty shell under a single stream of light. He was pale, gaunt, his eyes staring seemingly unseeing into the darkness that surrounded him.

Sherlock looked from the broken man to his brother.

“You tortured him.” His voice did not betray any emotion.

“I interrogated him.” Mycroft corrected. “Without success, I fear.”

“Does he know that we are here?” Mycroft thought he could detect pity in his brother’s eyes.

“This window is a one-way mirror, obviously. The cell itself is completely sound prove.” As if to prove the older Holmes brother wrong, Moriarty jerked his head up, staring at the exact spot where Sherlock was standing. The consulting detective took an involuntary step backwards.

“Why are you showing me this?” There was something close to panic in his voice.

“To ask for permission.”

“Permission for what?” Sherlock had quickly found his bearings back.

“Giving him what he wants.” Mycroft replied almost casually, flipping a switch to his right. The light in Moriarty’s cell instantly brightened by a tenfold. On the walls, until now hidden in darkness, a single word was etched into the concrete over and over again: SHERLOCK.

“Not physically speaking, of course.” Mycroft tried to reassure his brother, who’s eyes showed just the slightest hint of alarm.

“Just stories. Information. Nothing of significance. Just bits and pieces.”

“And what do you think he will do with this information?”

“Attempt to destroy you would be my guess.” The older Holmes gave his brother a cold smile before turning serious again. “Attempt to destroy the Commonwealth.”

“But I am not the Commonwealth.” For a moment, the great Sherlock Holmes seemed lost.

“No.” Mycroft let a genuine smile show on his face as he remembered when his brother had used these exact words before. The detective had been much surer of himself back then. When the Iceman turned to look his younger brother in the eye again, his voice and face were once more devoid of emotion. “I am.”

Sherlock gave his brother a short look, before they both turned back to the prisoner. He had to suppress the urge to flinch when his eyes once more met Moriarty’s unwavering stare.

“What do you hope to get in return?”

“Oh, nothing much.” The casual pleasantness that so unnerved his brother was back in Mycroft’s voice. “Just bits and pieces.”


	3. Taking credit

The black limousine almost seemed to vanish in the rain. Sherlock let his eyes roll dramatically, trying to figure out if it was already too late to just turn around. The man who stepped out and opened the back door for him was answer enough. There was no such thing as escaping Mycroft Homes. At least his brother had the decency to await him on the backseat himself, instead of sending one of his subordinates to pick him up.

“I had to let him go.” Mycroft begun without greeting or introduction as the car started moving. “His network was starting to get restless. I do believe we have what we need though.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Sherlock’s voice was an echo of the defiant teenager he had once been.

“Everything.” Mycroft let the word linger in the air for a moment, enough to cause his brother’s eyebrows to contract ever so slightly. “The name Holmes has to be on everyone’s lips within a few months time and my line of work is highly unsuited for that kind of publicity.” He continued with a half-hearted impression of regret.

“ _Your_ line of work is unsuited for publicity?” Sherlock looked at his brother in utter disbelieve. Mycroft smiled for a moment, but never missed a beat.

“I fear so, brother mine. Which is why, starting today, I need you to own up to the outcomes of you little investigations.” Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and let his graceful form slump back against the seat.

“Do I have to?” The older Holmes forced himself to repress a groan. He was a patient man, but his brother let him forget that fact every now and then.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Sherlock sounded both irritated and bored by their prolonged discussion.

“Because if you want a rat to go into a trap, you need to offer some bait.” Mycroft explained, though his tone indicated that he was well aware that there was no actual need to do so.

“Why do I have to be the bait?”

“Because Moriarty will not show his hand for anyone else.”

“What if I refuse?”

“It will happen all the same.” Mycroft lowered his gaze, tipping his ever-present umbrella lightly against the floor of the car. It was a sign that most of his subordinated had learned to interpret and respect as the end of any discussion. Not so his brother.

“You cannot make me a celebrity against my will.” A smile flickered over Mycroft’s face.

“You underestimate me, brother mine.” The detective’s eyes flashed over his brother’s features. He decided to change tactics.

“Moriarty will not believe it.”

“Not believe that a show-off is hungry for the limelight?” Mycroft raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Even your dear Dr. Watson will believe that.”

“What if the papers are not interested?”

“Oh but they are interested.” The car came to a sudden hold and the look of superiority on Mycroft’s face told his brother who had won this game.

“Time for you to start taking the credit.” The older Holmes said with a well-practiced threatening calmness. The world’s only consulting detective opened the door and raised himself to his full height outside, although his confidence was nothing but a mask as his brother bade his farewell.

“Time for you to reveal yourself to your adoring public. Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
